


February

by ottermo



Series: Fandot Creativity [3]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: F/M, Fandot Creativity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 14:45:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6119758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ottermo/pseuds/ottermo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fills from my third Fandot Creativity Night! So far: an otter hat appears, Arthur does some hoovering, Herc has something in his jacket pocket (jacket-pocket, jacket-pocket), Carolyn is Not Worried, postcards are written, Douglas saves a children's party, and then there's a Word War 2 AU thrown in for good measure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (for context: Arthur is pictured in the original post, wearing an otter hat)

 

 

 

The CAA might call it sin,  
but Douglas points out with a grin  
that the Captain must see  
if he wants to have tea  
he will have to let _this_ otter in!

 

 

 


	2. Museum (Box)

After Carolyn and Herc had left for the airfield manager’s office, Douglas hovered by the bottom of the plane’s steps, craning his neck to see if Arthur was following him. “Arthur? Get a move on, I need to lock her up.”

Arthur shuffled into view, carrying the hoover. “You go off, Douglas, I’m staying here – I’ve got some spring cleaning to catch up on.”

“It’s August, Arthur.”

“That’s why it’s called catching up! Anyway, I quite like hoovering. It’s like a competition to see if you can sing loud enough to still hear the words.” 

“You can do that at home, any time.” 

Douglas eyed Arthur. He decided to press on as if he had no idea what could be the matter, as if this were any old airport, attached to any old town. “Come on, we’ve got three hours before the client arrives. Don’t you at least want to come around the shops, or something?”

Arthur shook his head. “No, I’m fine here. I haven’t got my money with me, anyway.” 

Douglas sighed. 

“Arthur…”

The steward returned him a smile which, Douglas noticed grimly, wasn’t completely reaching his eyes. 

“You know, there are… there _are_ other things to do in Duxford,” Douglas said carefully. “We don’t have to go…there.” 

Silence. Then, “I know. But I’d still rather stay.” He looked down, studying the hoover’s handle with great care.

Douglas looked at Arthur for a long moment. Then he came to sit on the middle one of GERTI’s extendable steps, and patted the space next to him. 

“Alright. Come on, then.” he said, surrendering. “We may as well miss him together.” 

Arthur set the hoover down.


	3. Say no to this

The man’s smugness, it had to be said, riled Douglas at times – all right, nearly always – but to see Herc like _this_ was not as funny as he might have imagined. It was almost uncomfortable, in fact. 

“Douglas, how—”

Douglas held up a hand, fast. “Herc, if the rest of that sentence is going to be ‘how do I look’, then I must ask you to abandon it right there, before you embarrass us both.”

Herc rolled his eyes. “Of course not. I was only going to ask how far Carolyn’s hotel is from here.” He shifted, adjusted a sleeve. “Just trying to work out the timings, that’s all.” 

“I should think she’ll be here soon. Don’t worry, I’ll make myself scarce before she arrives.” Douglas grinned. “Wouldn’t want her to get sidetracked by my devilish good looks, not tonight of all nights.”

“‘Devilish’ is right, at least.”  

Herc slipped one hand into his jacket pocket, checking for something.

“It’s not going to escape,” Douglas said, mildly, “Not while you’re just standing there.” 

Herc threw him a Look. 

Douglas only smiled back.

There followed a silence, in which Herc checked his pocket twice more. Then cleared his throat. “Douglas, if—if Carolyn were to say no to this…”

“Then you would carry on just as you were,” Douglas said, matter-of-factly. “You know what she’s like. It’s always a risk.” He paused. “You’ve proposed to her before, you know.”

“Oh, _multiple_ times. But not…not like this.” 

Douglas nodded, glancing around the room. It was beautiful, he had to admit. “True.” 

His phone bleeped, and he read the message. “That’s Arthur. Says she’s on her way up. I’ll buzz off, then.”

Herc gave him some kind of shadow of his ordinary, confident smile.

“Good luck.” Douglas said, as he slipped out of the room.


	4. Minutes (Lantern)

His timing gets more imaginative the longer their association continues. Sometimes, he even arrives at the time she specifies. Often, he is purposefully, unapologetically, _spectacularly_ late. 

Tonight, though, is a first. By the time eight o’ clock arrives, she is beginning to suspect that he may actually have stood her up. She feels like a schoolgirl, waiting in the café around the corner from school for David Eames, who’d forgotten her in favour of chess club. She’d never stood for anything like that again. 

She checks her phone, but there’s nothing from Herc, which is…fine. It’s only three hours. One hundred and eighty measly minutes. He’s a grown man. It’s nothing. 

Twenty-one, her first job as a stewardess, waiting at home for her boyfriend to phone her, realising for the first time that she’s chosen the sky, and that all the men in her life, from this point on, will be tied to it as well. That she will have to learn not to worry about delays and what they might mean. By twenty-two, she had kicked the habit soundly, never laid awake worrying again. 

She puts the kettle on. Arthur is out with – Dotty, or Dolly, or Daisy, whatever she’s called, nice girl, all teeth, looks unused to wearing anything but jodhpurs. Red hair. Carolyn pours hot water into a mug, can’t remember the last time she actually bothered to make herself tea. It’s coffee or Arthur-service, usually. Or something hideous in a tall glass in one of Herc’s ridiculous restaurants. 

Where _is_ he? 

She dials, and the phone rings once, twice, three times, before his voice replaces the tone, breathless, apologetic already. “Darling. I’m so sorry.”

She doesn’t bristle at the nickname – there is a first time for everything. “Herc? Where have you _been_?”

There’s noise on his line, people talking, engines. “In the air,” he replies, “and then on the ground. Far more suddenly than planned.”

“What?!”

“Bulkhead rupture. Somebody cut a corner on repairs. Thankfully, we were over fields…”

She cuts him off. “Are you hurt?”

“Not so’s you’ll be able to tell. I’m dreadfully sorry about dinner. I’ll make it up to you next week—”

“You will _not,_ ” she snaps. “You’ll come here as soon as you can.” 

“Will I?”

“Indeed. And you’ll tell AirCal where to stick their ruptured bulkhead, and come and work for me.” 

He chuckles. It’s a welcome sound. “I don’t know about that. Have you forgotten you’ve already got one pilot who doesn’t take pay?”

“I’ll stretch to two, if it’ll keep you out of mischief.” 

“Understood.” He hums. “Of course, accidents happen. In any airline.” 

Carolyn huffs. “Yes. Mine more than most. Perhaps you’re better off.”

“Oh, I don’t know. MJN has _some_ things going for it, I suppose.” She can practically _hear_ him simpering. Pathetic. “One thing, in particular.” 

She tuts. “Must you.” 

For a few moments he talks to someone else. When his voice returns to her, it’s serious, but warm. “I’ve got to go, Carolyn. They need to assess the damage, and they want my report. So sorry, again. I’ll see you soon. And thank you. For worrying.”

She bites down on _I wasn’t worried_ , and simply says, “You’re welcome.” 


	5. Postcard (Relieved)

 

Martin. I saw this landscape this morning  
from my hotel bedroom, and hoped they  
would be selling a postcard that did it  
justice. This is the closest I could find.  
Sorry for the smudging, I’m borrowing  
Arthur’s biro and he must have been  
chewing both ends. Anyway. I hope you’re  
keeping well. I don’t usually write postcards,  
I normally have far too much to say. So  
feel free to feel as special as anything, that  
I broke that rule for you. I wish the photo-  
grapher had been standing just a few  
metres to the left, the beach is really  
something. And now the pen is running out.  
Apologies. Nothing sits quite right these  
days.  
Regards, Douglas

 

Hercules,  
I know how much you hate those ghastly  
beach scenes (or at any rate, I hate them,  
so you shan’t have them) but when I saw  
this dear little fellow on the front of this  
postcard I just knew he had to be yours.  
Never mind that you’re sitting across the  
table from me – this will be waiting for you  
when we fly home. I know you’ll be so  
grateful. Isn’t he a darling? Baaaaaaaa.  
-Carolyn  

 

 


	6. But that's for kids!

“Pleeeease, Douglas,” Martin said, his best ‘puppy-dog eyes’ in place. “It’s only for one afternoon. And you’re so good at it. Since when do you pass up an opportunity to show off?”

Douglas snorted. “I would hardly call it showing off anything. None of the stuff in the kit is anything close to what I can do. It’s all – kids’ stuff.” 

“Yes, I know that,” Martin said, impatiently. “It’s a children’s party, what else would you expect. And I wouldn’t ask, if we weren’t desperate – there’s no time to get anybody else now…”

Douglas sighed.

A couple of hours later, he looked down at the flock of children, picking Martin’s nephew and niece out by their freckles, and their striking resemblance to his captain. 

“Now as you can see,” he said, amiably, “This is a perfectly ordinary hat. Well, there’s rather more gold braiding than you might expect, but it’s certainly empty of any rabbits, of course.”

It will be interesting, he thinks with a smirk, to note how long it takes before Martin will put this on his head again.  


	7. Blackout (Lipsynching)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in an AU I've dabbled in for ages, but never actually done anything with. It's set during World War Two, and Martin is an evacuee. Never mind that children were evacuated _to_ Wokingham rather than from it. We're not interested in accuracy here.

At home, Martin had hated blackouts, hated how Simon always managed to steal his torch and taunt him with it, hated being able to hear planes flying overhead but not being allowed to look out of the window to see what they were, if his guesses were correct.

Hated the bombs, too, of course, but everybody hated those.

Here, though, blackout was different. In the dark, when he twisted off his torch, he might be anywhere. He might be anyone he liked, he needn’t be an evacuee, needn’t think about how he and Simon and Caitlin had been separated this morning, or how far away mother was, or how father might be getting shot at _now,_ or _now_ , or _now.._. In the dark, perhaps none of it was true.

He heard some scuffling from the other side of the room, and a face appeared, lit up by torchlight and a grin. “Martin! Are you awake?”

“Yes.” His own voice sounded very small, despite all the things he needn’t think about. Just because one _needn’t_ didn’t mean one managed not to, he supposed.

“This is brilliant,” Arthur whispered across to him. “I’m glad you’ve come to live with us. It’s going to be fun.”

Martin wasn’t sure if Arthur could really see him, but he nodded, hoping that it would be fun, after all, even in the light. Even though Arthur’s mother was a little bit stern, and not at all like his own mother, and even though Arthur was younger than him and didn’t have nearly so many model aeroplanes.

“Tomorrow you can meet Douglas,” Arthur said happily. “He lives next door. He’s older than us, nearly a grownup I think, but he’s nice to me. He’s going to join the air force as soon as he turns eighteen.”

This got Martin’s attention. “So am I,” he said quickly.

“But you’ve got ages yet,” said Arthur. “Maybe the war’ll be over by then. What will you do instead?”

“I’ll be an ordinary pilot,” Martin murmured. He’d always known he would fly aeroplanes, whatever happened. Simon had his history books, Caitlin had her dolls, but he had spent every shilling of his pocket-money on model planes, for as long as he could remember. “You can come in my aeroplane, if you like.”

“Brilliant!” Arthur spun the circle of light from his torch in little loops on the ceiling. “And we can fly all around the whole world together!”

It was a big plan to make on their first night as friends, but Martin was happy to agree. In the dark one might be anywhere, but at least he wasn’t alone.


End file.
